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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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THE SINGER IN THE PRISON.
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O sight of pity, shame and dole! |
O fearful thought—a convict soul. |
RANG the refrain along the hall, the prison, |
Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, |
Pouring in floods of melody in tones so pensive sweet and strong
the like whereof was never heard,
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Reaching the far-off sentry and the armed guards, who ceas'd their
pacing,
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Making the hearer's pulses stop for ecstasy and awe. |
2
The sun was low in the west one winter day, |
When down a narrow aisle amid the thieves and outlaws of the
land,
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(There by the hundreds seated, sear-faced murderers, wily counter-
feiters,
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Gather'd to Sunday church in prison walls, the keepers round, |
Plenteous, well-armed, watching with vigilant eyes,) |
Calmly a lady walk'd holding a little innocent child by either
hand,
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Whom seating on their stools beside her on the platform, |
She, first preluding with the instrument a low and musical prelude, |
In voice surpassing all, sang forth a quaint old hymn. |
A soul confined by bars and bands, |
Cries, help! O help! and wrings her hands, |
Blinded her eyes, bleeding her breast, |
Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest. |
Ceaseless she paces to and fro, |
O heart-sick days! O nights of woe! |
Nor hand of friend, nor loving face, |
Nor favor comes, nor word of grace. |
It was not I that sinn'd the sin, |
The ruthless body dragg'd me in; |
Though long I strove courageously, |
The body was too much for me. |
Dear prison'd soul bear up a space, |
For soon or late the certain grace; |
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To set thee free and bear thee home, |
The heavenly pardoner death shall come. |
Convict no more, nor shame, nor dole! |
Depart—a God-enfranchis'd soul! |
3
One glance swept from her clear calm eyes o'er all those upturn'd
faces,
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Strange sea of prison faces, a thousand varied, crafty, brutal,
seam'd and beauteous faces,
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Then rising, passing back along the narrow aisle between them, |
While her gown touch'd them rustling in the silence, |
She vanish'd with her children in the dusk. |
While upon all, convicts and armed keepers ere they stirr'd, |
(Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded pistol,) |
A hush and pause fell down a wondrous minute, |
With deep half-stifled sobs and sound of bad men bow'd and
moved to weeping,
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And youth's convulsive breathings, memories of home, |
The mother's voice in lullaby, the sister's care, the happy childhood, |
The long-pent spirit rous'd to reminiscence; |
A wondrous minute then—but after in the solitary night, to many,
many there,
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Years after, even in the hour of death, the sad refrain, the tune,
the voice, the words,
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Resumed, the large calm lady walks the narrow aisle, |
The wailing melody again, the singer in the prison sings, |
O sight of pity, shame and dole! |
O fearful thought—a convict soul. |
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